Gelid Air
by Rosedown17
Summary: On a dreary rainy night, an inspiring writer in the biggest slump of his career witnesses a crime. Not wanting to miss what could be the biggest adventure of a life time he gets involved to right what was wrong or die trying.
1. Frigid Rain

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil_ or any of it's characters. They respectively belong to _Capcom_. The only characters I own are the ones I make up. **

* * *

The morose rain pelted the cityscape around Wesker, he intently watched through the yellow glow of the window. The rain itself slicked down his body, soaking his clothes. The freezing rain with its fat drops and the occasional wind was uncomfortable even for him, but he ignored it. He was in no race to leave. The person of interest left his sight.

Sirens blared as they searched for the problems beyond him; their cries floating to the ill begotten Heavens. He adjusted his shades, his vision was so strong he neither cared about the constant flow of water down the lens nor the darkness it must cause to a normal human being. Wesker knelt down on the railing of the fire escape to the adjoining building.

His target came into view; he clenched and re-clenched his gloved hands. The pretty Redfield girl decided to reappear, finally. His patience was starting to wear thin. If he were to be honest, he felt he had started this plan for what seemed like ages ago. In reality it had been three days and it rained the whole time. As well the spry Redfield girl was never alone. It tried fairly on him, he was just tempted to just walk out and take her. But, no, he had to do things right.

She smiled a big toothy grin, her brownish-red hair glowed in the warm light. She grabbed a piece of platter from a blonde man. Leon Kennedy, he believed, if his intel was correct. They survived the Raccoon incident together, so it only made sense they remained in close contact.

Looking on the scene he noted a second man in the apartment. A broad shouldered man, hair a similar shade to Claire. Chris. No question about it, the smug bastard stood in the apartment smoothing back his shaggy hair. He was laughing now as he passed on a piece of China to his sister. He'd pay, but not at this particular moment. He had gotten away in the Antarctic two months ago, but once Wesker got the right chance Chris would be pulp.

Wesker would love nothing more to go in there and snap the little prick's neck- that was not to be. He would get to lure him, in time. Right now he had to focus on getting Ms. Redfield. She would be needed dearly if the plan were to work. He didn't mind, it wasn't his first time escorting women, and this time the female in question wasn't too hard on the eyes.

With a small sigh- his breath came out in white puffs- looked to his cell phone. 10:37 a late dinner for Redfield's and friend. So to pass the time he answered emails via the phone 'till 11:36, when he looked up the two men finally looked as if they were to leave. Chris with his hand on the worn copper knob, looking happy despite the things he has seen. Wesker was fraught with anticipation, but the two buggars wouldn't leave. Too caught up in their meaningless talk.

He had followed this girl from Chinatown and back, matter of fact all over New York it seems. And the only thing separating him from her was these half-wits. He groaned, backing off the railing, opting to lean on the wall. He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently.

Then it finally happened, they left. His gut un-wound, he smirked. His time was now, with all the grace of an agile cat he leaped from one fire escape to another landing lightly. Claire didn't seem to notice, she was too busy washing her dishes. He crept over being bathed by the light. Not minding it at all, his eyes adjusted. Being in the light was okay anyhow, she wouldn't see him. He wouldn't let her, and no one else would too. He was wearing all black, plus with the ability to run superfast he could get out of sight with no problem. And the plus side of New York is most people minded their one business, but in case he wanted no witnesses.

He ducked under the ledge, Claire had turned to look out the window, eyes filled with longing. He listened for the tiniest of movements. _A mother cat and her kittens mewing behind the dumpster, cars driving by, puddles being splashed, some idiot's T.V. a tad too loud, and Claire's soft footsteps across the plush carpet to what must be the living area._

He looked up-_close_- it was her bedroom slash living area. She laid reclined on a brown sofa bed of some sort. A ranch bottle still lied on the bed; it was littered with magazines and some old recognizable clothes. _Dinner in bed; how quaint_ he thought sarcastically. She rolled over the bottle, her face looking a bit agitated to be getting up and putting away a bottle. He could understand, she had a long and hard day, he had to watch every second of it. She slumped up, then practically leaping out of bed to put away the ranch. Claire yawned stretching, her cotton pink tee riding up to show her tan stomach, a sparkling belly button ring glinted. Wesker wasn't fond of piercings on most women but on her it was well suited.

Claire knowing nothing of her little voyager slipped out of her jeans, they went flying next to her bed. Standing now in her tight black Hip Huggers, she kept looking about until in an excited fashion found what she was looking a for-grey pair of sweat pants under her bed. She put them on, in the process taking off some unnecessary accessories. They landed on the bed side table in a very audible clunk.

In a rare scene Wesker was probably never to witness again, Claire un-did her pony slipping the black pony tail on her wrist. Her pretty hair dusted over her sloped shoulders. She fell back on the bed, spread eagle in perfect blissful ignorance.

He smiled a wolfish grin, despite himself, he knew this job would be a fun one. Without much effort Wesker grabbed the sash, lifting it like a knife in butter. He let it shut on its own diving behind the counter.

Claire didn't even look up, he peered over the counter, listening to her breath. Nice, deep breaths. This wasn't much of a challenge; he made a face of disproval. He'd half expected her to notice. But then again, he wasn't allowed to bring much attention to himself. He stood in the tiny kitchen area, getting a better view of the sleeping girl. In the light she looked so much younger, it would be like taking a sleeping infant from the couch to her room. He crept forward making sure not to step on the loose floor boards. Heaven forbid he'd make even a creek.

He came upon the bed, her eyes flitting in the earliest stage of Rem. _Why isn't she just the sleeping angel?_ He remarked to himself. Noting the little line of drool; going down her chin, _cute._

Wesker mounted Claire's midriff-upon the cold wet leather resting on her stomach her eyes shot open- covering her mouth with a meaty hand, "Hello, sunshine."


	2. Writer's Block

_"HELP ME!" She bellowed, beating the door. He stepped forward, closing in on his prey. She tried to pull the slants, "OH GOD! IF SOMEONES THERE!" She glanced back again, too late. The man loomed over her with the biggest intent to kill_…

Roger Hugh looked at his work, staring at it. The man at the computer was a tall average build man with brown hair arranged in a boy-ish way. And his green-grey eyes intelligent in every way were hidden behind his thick framed glasses. His face fixed in a perplexed form was sharp and Roman in all aspects, pointed high cheek bones, square chin, thin lips, and a long strong nose. Some would call him a Geeky type of handsome. He relaxed in his pajamas none too pleased.

He erased all of it. It wasn't…he pondered, good is what he decided. Sighing, he looked out the window, rain. It had been raining for three days. It had been prime setting for writing material. It would've been if he could write. Or write something that was agreeable in the very least. His deadline was coming soon and this book never even touched off the ground.

He loved to write, it made him feel good to write, and when he was younger he'd say he was like Bach writing music. He could write faster than his fingers could muster. He leaned back in his beat up chair. His attention returned to his clichéd horror story. He tried to stray away from clichés and try new things that no one has ever done before. As a testament for his love of writing, but it all came out…

He bit his lip, '_bad…all my writing seems bad'._ His mother was a Romance novelist, got on New York's best sellers list. And she gave him some advice that seems good now.

'Maybe you're not a writer, not everyone is.' She didn't mean it in a bad way. She was looking out for his prospects. But as a teen he was head strong this is what he wanted. But right now this career got him a crappy fast food job on the side and a dinky little apartment on the top floor of an off brand Walgreens.

'_I could always go back to college and finish my Archaeology degree,'_ He thought about it for a while, it'd be better than this he marveled. He was sure his editor would have a stroke when he found out he wasn't past chapter 6 in a 32 chapter novel. Water dripped from a leak somewhere in his apartment. He didn't want to see where this time, his best bet his comics. He relaxed, drawing his curtains back to see the view fully.

That's when he saw her.

Claire Redfield. That's what he heard from the grapevine at least. Moved in a month ago, he hadn't talked to her once. He was too nervous. Roger did see her from time to time. One time in an elevator, he could've talked to her, but he was just too tongue tied to say anything or approach her so he stood there like a moron until she left. Nowadays he's opted to look at her from a far; he gazed upon her through the window. She wouldn't see, she was too caught up in house guests, and his apartment was pitch-black minus the light from his computer which was dimming from lack of use.

She caught him looking once, all he could muster was a dumb founded wave and an idiot grin.

She waved back, a friendly smile. It only got worse when he walked away; he tripped knocking down all his work papers. He swore he heard her laugh. Roger didn't want to show his face to her after that.

At this moment, she grinned taking away dirty dishes from the strangers. Her cheeks getting rosy red from laughing and her gorgeous blue eyes sparkling in the light. Roger blushed she sure was pretty. He looked back at his computer screen, he considered her as a muse at this point. He adjusted his glasses. Thinking, then forgot his novel all together, signing into a writing site. His life was pretty dull at this point, he belt out another chapter for a fan story.

He wrote a lot of fan things, Star Trek, Star Wars, Star Gate, X-men. He used it for practice for his real writing. Roger couldn't help it, it was sort of easy, and he was always excited for the reviews. It seemed sometimes he did it more for the reviews than the story. Which was wrong in his book, he liked to write and did it for fun. Hell, maybe it was for both.

Roger sighed it took up most of his time, having no social life was a downer. He had some friends. There was Mike from off brand Walgreens, Tim his manager from Mickey D's, Logan the blind man from down stairs. But the rest were off and married with their own lives. It made him fade in comparison. Literally, he often joked about it with friends he did see; he was paler than his milk in the fridge.

Roger brushed back his hair, wondering if one of the men were her boyfriend. The way she handled them; probably both were. '_That does it'_ he decided, _'everyone was_ getting _laid but me_.'

Being a virgin didn't help either, looking back maybe he shouldn't have taken that chastity pledged back in Sunday school so seriously.

He finished entering his chapters, waiting for responses. None would come tonight, he knew it.

Looking back over, Claire was out of sight, and the apartment seemed empty, and there was a blonde man at her window. Probably the same one from before he assumed, the man went over and crouched down in plain view of her.

_'Not a nice way to treat a guest,' _Roger thought, maybe she's one of those types. He didn't see why it wouldn't be the man, plus there was no way anyone could go on the roof. And the bottom of that particular fire escape was in desperate need of repair. There was no ladder or a set of stairs for three stories up, just two pieces of metal hanging there were they once connected. It looked freakin dangerous to even kneel down on that thing, it seemed so brittle, like it could break by just attempting to walk on it.

His fire escape was the same. One day a fire would break out and he'd be the idiot to go out, falling to his doom.

Plus the man must've been there for a while, he looked miserable in his wet attire, and he looked desperate to get back inside.

So he felt a little bad for the man outside.

Claire walked back in view, his heart skipped a beat. This made him frustrated, closing the curtain, he wouldn't stalk her. Over the past month he felt like he had. It was his own fault, he had waited too long.

He clicked back on his story. He hadn't writers block in a long time. The longest he had it was when his Step-dad died and they moved here. It took him two years to adjust from a rural setting to an urban one just to write again. That's when he started the Fan stories too, he made a faces at his Novel.

Nothing came from it, with a forlorn huff he looked out his window once more seeing her curtains closed. This agitated him, he had no reason to be. She wasn't his girlfriend.

He got up, deciding it would be best to go to bed. After shutting his computer lid he slid into his cot. He was going to have a long day tomorrow staring at his computer screen.


	3. The Wallet

Chris Redfield flipped his phone shut replacing it in his pocket. His sister hadn't picked up, it's not like he was worried. They had stayed up with her as long as they could; but they had to leave.

He and Leon had tried to meet up with the contact. In short it was a dud, they were met with nothing but an empty alley. Chris crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Its something he felt the need to do when idle. Leon leaned on the stoop, the rain had stopped.

The air was sticky and soon it'd probably rain again. Someone was exiting the apartment complex; it was a middle aged woman. She was actually decent looking for her age: long legs, thick moussed black tresses of hair, and a shapely body hidden under a fashionable blue maxi coat. But it stopped there; her once pretty face was cover in worry lines and damage likely from smoking. She dragged along her kid, she seemed busy listening to her little girl's demands. She kept her eyes glued to her child, meanwhile the little girl bobbed her head and gabbed what she wanted for her birthday.

"Excuse me mam," The pair walked by, but Chris caught the door in time. He held it open for Leon to shuffle in, the boy looked beat. His doleful blue eyes kept to the ground, he kept his hands in his brown leather jacket and chewed on a tooth pick, it looked like he was dragged out of the trash.

"Hey Leon," Chris caught the young man's attention, "After this," Chris walked into the building letting the door swing shut, "You get some shut eye back at the hotel?"

"You're beginning to look exhausted." Outside he could hear the soft sprinkle of rain, Leon only looked back to him pushing back his blond hair.

"Oh sorry? I don't look beautiful?" Leon chirruped, he started up the walk way to the stairs. Seeming to mind no one else who passed by, Chris walked after him.

He couldn't help but smile…smart ass. Chris let his mind drift to Jill and the others as he went up the stairs. They had stayed behind at D.C.; someone had to be there to deal with the feds.

"So do you think this guy has the answers we need?" Leon called from the stairwell, Chris not far behind below.

"I'm not sure," He called back, this guy might be useful or the lot of his information could be bum-kiss. The guy in particular was staring at Claire and company through his window last night. Chris bit his cheek. What if they had found her, Chris thought back when they were agonizing over where to hide everyone. Everyone thought a small town would be an easy find, everybody knows every body. It didn't seem ideal.

With New York it seemed like a giant hiding spot, she didn't need to talk to anyone or leave her apartment. No contact, no trouble. In retrospect with all women and children that go missing in New York everyday its not the best location. But Claire knows how to defend herself, she proved that.' _An alive 20 year old freak with a knife isn't a lumbering zombie.'_ Chris began to feel immediate regret. Maybe they should've gone with a secluded location in Maine.

They reached the right floor, the smell changed from coffee grounds to soggy cardboard. Leon led the way to the door. _Maybe it wasn't an Umbrella goon _Chris pondered, maybe it was just some normal stalker. He immediately cracked his knuckles, it was silly she probably was sleeping in right now. And that guy was probably isn't even a pervert. Maybe he was an artist or something. The poor excuse for reassuring did nothing for Chris's gut.

"Ready?" Leon raised his gloved fist to the door.

"Born ready," He said with an agitated sigh.

* * *

Roger hung half in and out of bed, the floor felt dusty. His comforter was getting stiff, laundry day should be coming up soon. He didn't want to get out of bed, he didn't have to go to Mickey D's today. He could hear rain again, _just a good day to write _he thought sarcastically.

_Rap rap_, there was a soft knock at the door. Roger jumped up from his bachelors cot, throwing a shirt on and his tartan robe. He unlatched the door to two stern looking men. A blond and a brunette, very reasonable in height but not as tall as him.

"Hello?" Roger yawned into the back of his hand as the two men shifted in their places. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," The brunette took out a badge, flashing it at him really, he only saw a blur of gold. "We're with the Police force," He leaned on Roger's door frame with an elbow. "We need to talk to you about your where abouts last night."

"I was here," Roger spanned out his arms to show off his sad dinky apartment. "May I ask why you need to ask this?" He questioned.

The men looked annoyed by his asking, "We are dealing with a string of robberies in the area, there have been a reported stalker stealing woman's panties. Sir may we take a look in your apartment?"

Roger looked at them in disbelief, "Look away officers. I doubt you'd find any panties. Women are propelled from me." He stepped away from the door letting the perplexed officers in.

They looked around for awhile, flipping over some of his soggy comics and kicking away a pile of clothes. He didn't have much in his apartment, they got to his only dresser which was half empty. The blonde man came up to his laptop, he took out a handkerchief lifting open the lid. "Are you some kind of writer?" He pointed to Roger's storyboard ideas on the wall.

"Yeah," Roger kept to himself, folding his arms. He never felt so out of place, the men flipped through his documents. "So this guy..."

"Hm?" The brunette looked up.

"Has he been doin' this long?" Funny, Roger thought I never heard of also felt nervous, for the oddest reasons. And he now realized that he hadn't even got their names.

"Yeah."

"Chris," The blond waved over Chris, letting in the light he pulled away his curtains. "A straight view of the Redfield apartment."

"So it is." Chris seemed to remark darkly.

"Did something happen to Claire?" Roger peeped.

"You know her?" Chris spun around looking dead set in Roger's eyes. They were very serious. It really scared him.

"Uh-yeah, well no. Not really I saw her though my window sometimes," _'Smooth', _Roger kicked himself. "I also said hello to her sometimes, once in an elevator. Not really a budding friendship." He let out a nervous little laugh.

"Funny how you said you met her in an elevator." He stepped away from the window, "You don't live in the same complex, so where would you two meet?"

"Around," He rubbed his head as if to recall, but he knew; it was at some mall. He was there to get slacks. No idea why she was there. But she had bags from some clothing stores and local perfume kiosks.

"Some mall, it was a few weeks ago I don't remember much. But she was nice, I hope nothing bad happened to her."

"Let's all hope that." The blonde man stepped forward, he removed a notebook from his leather jacket. "I'm sorry can you give us your name again?"

"Roger Hugh."

"Alright, looks like we're done here."

"How about the laptop?" Chris held it open in his hands.

"I prefer if you don't take that." Roger bounced up rushing over to its aid, "Here I don't want trouble just.." He searched his desk. "Have the back up," He handed the drive to the elder officer.

"Fair enough," He replaced the driver into his pocket, setting the laptop down. "Have a nice day now." He firmly grasped Roger's hand, squeezing it to Hell. He could've sworn he heard a faint crack too.

"You too sirs." Roger saw them out. He rubbed his hand for a few minutes, the pain still didn't subside; walking over to his desk he pulled the curtains. Claire's curtains were still drawn. Did he do the right thing last night. He should've called the police he bemoaned. What if that guy on the fire escape wasn't that same person he thought it was. He redrew the curtains, looking onto his apartment. He really hoped she was okay.

After a few minutes he spotted a wallet. It wasn't his, his was kind of duct taped together. This seemed to be a fresh brown bovine leather. He flipped it open, _Leon Scott Kennedy. _Obviously it was the blond detectives. Roger quickly put on street appropriate attire and headed after the police officers, if that was what they really were. The last thing he needed was being accused of stealing an officer's wallet.

* * *

The two men walked across the street to Claire's building. Leon noted Chris's set jaw, he seemed rather upset. Leon dove his hands in his pockets, nudged Chris's shoulder. "At least he wasn't our guy." They were half way across the street, the light drizzle started to actually become a down pour. "Just a regular Star Trek fan, harmless. Probably polishing his Princess Lea figurines."

"One. Thats Star Wars-"

"I know-"

"Two. I'm not crazy about this guy staring at my sister through her window." Chris froze at the buzzer to her apartment. With a forlorn sigh he pushed it. "I just thought they really found her this time." Chris looked back at Leon. Stressed has taken a toll on Chris, if Leon was dragged through the trash; Chris was slammed into trash island and punched into worse conditions.

Leon was saddened by his desperate look. He patted his friend on the shoulder, "I'm sure she's in her apartment just fine." He squeezed then returned his hand to his person.

"Claire, open up." He waited, "Claire?" He pressed the buzzer again, after a minute he held the button then waited. After no response he got into immediate alert. He yanked on the front door, locked.

"Chris," Leon pulled him back after he got too rough with it. "Just wait, maybe she's asleep." Leon tried to make his voice as nice as possible. Chris brushed off Leon's hand. He tried the door bell again.

"I highly doubt it, she was instructed to always answer."

Three minutes of this and finally someone came out. "Hey you wait'en on someone?" A very heavy set black man opened the front door.

Chris turned on his heels, "Yes, my sister. She hasn't answered her phone or been seen for a few days now. I'm just worried." He bashfully looked down, he obviously realized he might have been over reacting before.

"Which one is she?" The man asked.

"Claire Redfield, apartment six fifty." Chris grabbed his wallet showing off his I.D. to prove his sibling relation.

"All right come on in, I'll let you have the extra key to her apartment only because your her brother. But calm down, I know family is important but you can't break my door. Understand?" He opened the door to the yellow lit lobby.

From the outside Chris and Leon could hear the hum of the laundry room in the back. They both stepped inside. "Yeah, I'm sorry." Chris gave a sheepish grin. "I suppose I'm a little over protective and I got out of hand."

"No, no it's fine." The man went behind a counter, and pulled a ungreased drawer. "If my sister Kiki was missing I'd shit a brick too." He took out a little gold key. "Do you want me to come? To call the police?" The man did give a concerning look.

"No. No." He took the key, "Hopefully, she just over slept or she's just been very busy lately. But if she is missing we'll talk to you first."

Which Leon figured wasn't the truth, they would just sneak out if she wasn't would they tell this man the truth anyway. And what were they suppose to tell him? The real truth, that possibly an evil organization might've kidnapped his friend and are at this very moment turning her into some zombie freak. That'd get them arrested and having the great result of being sent to a mental institution.

"Did she go missing before?" The man pried.

Leon had heard a story of Claire running away before when she five; with her baby blanket and the world at her feet. She didn't make it past the first stop sign, big brother had to carry the crying girl home. After that she was more dedicated to her family than ever. Of course it would be much to Claire's chagrin to know Chris had told him that. But there was no other incident he had heard of. But of course...

"A few times." Chris said, people came down the steps to the front desk. Chris moved out of the way and made his way upstairs before the man could pry anymore. Hopefully the lie had been convincing enough.

They heard a "Hope you find her!" from the man as the duo climbed the steps, Chris two at time. It was steep; must fucken suck carrying groceries up these. Leon had almost fallen over on himself leaving this place. At the top Chris slid towards the door, if he didn't use his hands to stop himself he would've left an imprint.

Leon walked over in a more calm manner, he felt some unease in the back of his mind but he knew she was probably slumped over in bed. Cellphone in hand; the previous caller was more than likely Sherry. The girl they saved in Raccoon City, one hell of a first day.

Chris knocked on the door, "Claire!?" He gave another soft set of raps."It's Chris." After a few minutes he knocked again. No response, now Leon worried. Chris unlocked the door, with a slight push he let the door slowly open on its own.

Leon could visibly see Chris's whole being sink. In the small and usually cheery apartment all was dark and with no signs of life. Chris jolted to live striding his way in, throwing the curtains open. "Claire!?" He violently turned in the direction of her bed. Chris froze.

"She's not here." Chris said finally, his voice sounded well worn and defeated.

"Are you sure she's not out?" Leon didn't know why he was thinking of a best possible out come. Maybe he hoped for it. No one likes to have a friend kidnapped. Chris made large steps to her bed, coming back to view with Claire's cellphone.

"She wouldn't leave this behind."

Leon walked in letting the door close behind him, "Shit." He grabbed the phone, flipped it open. Full bars, a lot of her minutes un-used. Last person she called, Chris. She called to remind them of dinner. He bit the side of her cheek. "Do you think it was him?" He gestured to Mr. Hugh's direction. He looked up to see Chris in his usual idle stance.

"Probable, but not foreseeable. The guy couldn't lift fifty pounds without help, nonetheless he couldn't even take on Claire even when playing dirty. But if he was an UMC agent he could've called someone." Chris set his jaw, in deep thought. He scratched his stubbled chin.

"We need to start looking. I need to know who was here, if neighbors saw anyone, but first." Chris walked over to his sister's bed. "Let's see if we can get any leads in the apartment." He knelt down looking through papers: college papers, newspapers, and other miscellaneous documents.

Leon walked over to the window. The rain was getting heavier, the apartment across the way looked empty. Who the hell knows what that guy did. He looked at the fire escape on the building, rusted and in deep need of repairs.

"Well?" Chris frustrated, looked back to Leon. He held some old receipts. Not that they would be any help. Chris was tearing the apartment limb from limb for any clues.

"Sorry, just turning an idea in my head." Leon rubbed his head then decided to act on it. He grabbed the sash, lifting it with ease. He set one foot outside.

Leon put weight on the metal making it let out a horrid screech.

"What the are you doing?" Chris called.

"Seeing something." Leon slowly climbed out the window, despite its pitiful requests not to. When the young man stood up straight the escape began to vacillate in the wind.

"Get back in here." Chris poked his head through the window. "That'll fall and I can't have you break your neck." He grabbed Leon's arm.

"Wait." Leon brushed Chris off. He walked to the steps, not even putting any weight on them, the slightest touch on the first step made the whole first set of stairs fall; landing with an audible plunk. "I think that rules off the fire escape." He backed away cautiously.

"Gee, what made you think that." Chris chaffed. "Now get back in here." He grabbed Leon's sleeve tugging him back in.

"That guy's fire escape looks like its in the same condition. So that rules out him coming down his fire escape and anyone coming up Claire's." Outside the old metal was still moaning from its rough treatment over the past few days.

"None the less top floor," Chris popped his head out the window looking up to the sky. He ducked back in only after being thoroughly soaked. "They could've just climbed down. Even though you can't climb up the fire escape. It seems like it could hold a person if they make their visit quick and keep their footing brisk." He shut the window. "You just proved that."

"If not," He whipped his face, "It's a safe bet she let her captor in." Chris walked past Leon to the center of the room. He clucked his tongue. "Theres no one she knows here and no one we know here. Shes really gone isn't she?" Without Leon's reply he went back over to her bed beginning the search all over again.

"Well? What do you have over there?  
"People magazines, disc-man, Nirvana CD's, the list goes on and on..."

Leon looked towards the window again, strange that Hughs left right after they did.

"Ranch!" Chris chucked the bottle at an unsuspecting Leon. After fumbling with the catch for a bit he finally got a hold on the bottle's neck, "Could you put that away for me?" Chris called. They used two bottles last night, one was apparently got lost under the reached further under pulling out a shoe box which contained her Italian Beretta from Rockfort.

"Alright," Leon stepped into the kitchen. His stopped in his step; An impressive combat knife protruded from a cabinet. "Chris!" Leon tossed the bottle to the side. Yanking the large knife out. A note was stabbed into it.

Chris ran over, "What does it say!?" He glared down at the note.

Leon looked it over: '_A Chymical Wedding Will take place soon.'_ Under neath the fancy script was the HCF logo. "A Chymical Wedding will take place soon?" Leon muttered more confused than curious. He handed the note to the older man to see if he could make sense of it.

"Wesker!" Chris hissed, hate flashed through his face. Then as soon as the realization hit him his face was pure agony, "He has her!"

"How do you know?"

"Its his hand writing." He howled, "Its his knife." He dropped on his bottom and held his hands to his face. "Who knows what hes doing to her!?"

Almost abandoning his high hopes he set the knife down."If he has her, he'll try to bait you out." He pulled the forlorn man up. "Don't worry well find her."

"Dead."

"Alive." Leon corrected him, "We'll get all we can here. Get someone from D.C. and we'll all track them down. We've done it before." This caused Leon to smile, his mind immediately flashed to the email he got a few months ago from Claire. He was happy to hear from her, it had been a while. He just didn't expect she'd be stuck on an island with a psychotic cross dresser with a sister complex.

"You're so young." Chris remarked flatly.

"And?" Leon shrugged. Chris gave a weak smile, grabbing the knife. He struck it down on the innocent counter; only visible thing was its hilt.

"We'll find 'em." Chris strode out with bold confidence, his vigor revamped. The man could take on the whole world if he wished it. "But first!" He re-began searching the apartment.

* * *

Roger finally sauntered out of his complex. He got caught up in a chat with his neighbor Mrs. Fergonson. Such a nice old lady, he helped her with her groceries and got into talking about the possible rise of rent. Not a thing he'd like to discuss, still a nice discussion regardless. Rain pelted his head; the bitter wind whipped his face. He retreated back under his apartment complex's awning.

Wallet in hand standing there like an idiot, maybe the detectives would come back soon. He should probably just go to a precinct and return it. With his luck they'd come back for it and he'd be out on the town with it. He shuddered at the thought of going to prison. Roger paced back and forth,_ maybe they won't come back for it _he wondered. The rain drizzled off the awning making a water curtain before him. _It would help if that wasn't there_...Roger groaned. Some fat drops soaked through the awning which in turn dripped to his head.

He had nothing else to do, so he flipped open the wallet. Three dollars, Debit card, driver's license (from Nevada?), pictures of friends and family Roger supposed, a card to some Diner: _Emily's Diner where its home cooked and served hot!, _and some key card he supposed belonged to the police department.

"Kennedy?" A soft voice cooed. It made Roger jump out of his skin. He shoved the wallet into his pocket like nothing happened.

A beautiful young woman wearing all black stepped under the awning; shaking off her umbrella. Her perfume clung to her bosom, curly red hair full of bounce and shine framed her face. Sparkling green eyes fawned at him while soft Anglo Saxon features beckoned him. There was a golden pin on her lapel, two gold pills. It had HCF written underneath.

"Kennedy?" Her high voice came with a European accent, she pouted when he didn't answer; he was too stunned by her beauty to say anything.

After a moment he realized staring was awkward and broke his trance,"OH! No. I'm not Kennedy."

"Too, bad. I thought so because you had his wallet."

"I-uh was-he left it at my apartment. And I was returning it"

She rose a thin inquisitive brow, lightly running her hand up his arm. "Standing in place sure is a strange way to return something."

"They kind of left before I could catch up with them. But I expected they'd come back for it." He gestured to no one in particular.

"Make sense," She smiled. "So who are you?'

"I'm Roger. Roger Hugh." He shook her hand. "And you are?" He tried to add a lit of seduction to his voice.

"My name is Carpathia Brasov. And I'm here head hunting." She walked to the edge of the awning; feigning interest in Roger. "I'm here for the pharmaceutical company HCF." And that was all she said after what seemed like minutes.

They stood there waiting for someone who wasn't going to come. The wind sent chills through Roger, rain sometimes licked at his back. The street was starting to fill with water, the sky started to darken. If Roger wasn't mistaken there was thunder 8 minutes off. He looked to his watch, been out here for thirty minutes now. He was about to go inside when Carpathia bounced up. "You know what!" She chirruped.

"How about I offer you the job!?" Carpathia giggled, she pointed at him, "You don't have a job now right?"

The bold question surprised him, but he might as well not seem like a loser, "I'm kind of in between."

"In between!?" She shouted, bewildered. "Hey aren't you a writer?"

He found this odd; how would she know? "Yes, but how-?"

"I can just tell you have that air about you!" She wrapped her arms around his left arm. "It'll be the perfect job for you! You get to travel, get big inspirations for those big stories of yours, and you'd make the BIG BUCKS!" She put her big business woman flare in those last words.

"I-I don't know..."

"Oh come on! Kennedy isn't going to want the job and we'll see him later. I'm sure of it!" She tugged him towards the street.

"I have an apartment."

"The company will take care of your expenses when your abroad don't worry about it!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah! Come on!?" Carpathia pulled him out of the awning's protection into the wet. A sleek black limousine with tinted windows pulled up. The door popped open but he didn't see anyone, "We'll just give you a quick interview and you'll think about it! Kay?"

He looked at those expecting eyes, within seconds his protests disappeared. "Oh-kay" He squeaked.

"Let's get inside before we get more wet!" She happily pushed him in, closing the door on them and the Big Apple for good.

* * *

**Okay I feel like this has been a slow start. But it'll pick up pace soon, and reviews for this would be highly appreciated. **


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